


Red of Tooth and Claw

by ShudderShock



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Abstract Eroticism, Abstract Everything, Character Study, F/M, Freeform, Garrus' Squad - Freeform, No Plot/Plotless, Omega Team - Freeform, This is probably not the Garrus you're looking, Vignette, Violence, abstract violence, fair warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShudderShock/pseuds/ShudderShock
Summary: Omega was a fever dream of possibilities.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Red of Tooth and Claw

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Red of Tooth and Claw: Chapter One
> 
> Author: Shudder Shock (http://shudder-shock.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Pairing: Garrus Vakarian/Female Shepard
> 
> Summary: Omega was a fever dream of possibilities. 
> 
> Author Note: Hello everyone. This is an exploratory writing project highlighting Garrus' time on Omega through the Shadow Broker's kill list. I've been toying with the idea for a while and decided it was time to indulge. Heed the tags, and feel free to pass over if it isn't your cup of tea. Special thanks to shretl (girlundone) for helping me improve, giving me confidence, and inspiring me. Much love always. 

* * *

~~Thralog Mirki'it (red sand dealer)~~  
~~\- Chemical overdose (red sand, direct contact with all four eyes)~~

* * *

Omega welcomed him with open arms like the embrace of a first-time lover, ready and willing to be spread wide, secret places begging to be peeled back, layer by layer until made pure for him. Perseverance, gun smoke, and fire would strip away the old, weak, filthy flesh until it was ready for rejuvenation under his breath as he blew to life a spark that became an ember, then a flame, until an inferno of righteous fury engulfed the reflections of electric crimson neon afterglow in stagnant puddles standing in crooked alleyways.

Crimson—like her hair and blood—flowing freely as a wildfire, gifting him purpose and rage. A final delivery which would not be unappreciated or unopened, as he barely contained his rapture, tearing apart the ribcage of pain until becoming lovingly tangled in razor-thin heartstrings and strangled by the snares of vein, before finally ripping to be baptized in a fountain of scarlet droplets. 

Now cleansed, bitter sorrows were swallowed, leaving a new flavor in his mouth, a saccharine craving for retribution and for the prospect of resistance. Brain and body buzzed, almost hard—half-cocked—with anticipation and excitement, eager to inflict suffering upon the criminal garbage that overflowed into the streets, wanting to see them crawling on all fours, gagging on the fear and knowledge that Omega was his kingdom now and that its underbelly was ripe for the reaping, and he was hungry to chew up, spit out, and taste the kill.

Their quarry left a sloppy trail, never imagining that it would become one of the hunted, never knowing it needed to hide, making itself easy to follow—easy to close-in—cruising the curves of tight cut-throughs, pathways to pulse points of punishment.

Crimson—like grainy poison—a heaping pile of powder turned ruby cloud erupting upon impact as he rammed that batarian bastard into crude chemistry to choke on the dirty sand meant for the destitute.

Thralog Mirki'it struggled until his elbow was twisted back, socket popping wet and empty, like the vacant homes of broken families, crying children, addicted parents—overdosing under swaying streetlights, cutting darkness in half, another line of dust cut into rows on dirty tabletops sharing space with tiny toys for infant hands. 

Imagination took over where obscured vision failed to reveal the dealer's last moments—face forced down into dunes—huffing in lethal fumes, held in place by Kevlar clad hand squeezing, leaving bruises at the base of his skull. 

By now, his vision must be blurry and darkening with red tendrils, blood vessels rupturing, four eyes bulging as the end was hastened, body convulsing, heart pumping, pumping, pumping, chest about to burst, no longer beating until a corpse fell limply to the dusty ground. A painful way to die. A shame it was over so soon. 

Omega was sick, weeping sores into the inky vacuum of space, spilling oil and polluting perfect waterways. 

The face of his mother blossomed in the honey petaled meadows of his mind—a bouquet of generosity, compassion, courage, gracefully suffering under the burden of chronic illness that actively killed her more day after day. No longer could she radiate sunshine smiles or open her arms steady like the horizon, shining dawn light as he skipped and tripped the path of blissful boyhood of yesteryear. Tremors racked her body, making it impossible for her to rest unless heavily sedated, medicated, drugged. 

She was withering away.

Crimson—like a funeral pyre—not lit to mourn Shepard and her passing but to celebrate her life. He missed her, shared pain with her, went through thick and thin with her, and came out on the other side without her. Gone forever, though he would always hold a place inside for the flicker of diamond light in her wide eyes, smiling face, heavenly body adrift in the void, the final breath of a dying star.

There were no stars on Omega, but Garrus could see eternity piercing the veil of smog through the corroded latticework of steel overhead. 

And it was good to be alive.

End Chapter 1


End file.
